


Demands

by MothTale



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Avengers (2012), SHIELD, Teen Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 13:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothTale/pseuds/MothTale
Summary: Written for a prompt on the MCU kink meme.A teenage Clint Barton has a few demands for SHIELD before he agrees to join them.





	Demands

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [this](https://mcu-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/820.html?thread=221236#cmt221236) prompt.

The kid looked much better now than he had when Coulson last saw him.  


The cut on his forehead had been cleaned and taped up. He had on fresh clothes, even if they didn’t exactly fit, and on the whole he looked decidedly cleaner than when Coulson had cornered him. The look on his face though, that hadn’t changed.  


‘I believe you’ve had time to consider our offer Mr Barton,’ Coulson said.  


Clint Barton glared back at him.  


He’d claimed he was twenty-two. SHIELD’s research put his real age closer to eighteen. He looked younger still.  


‘Oh, very fucking generous of you. Join us or we’ll hand you over to the cops who’ll stick you in jail for the next forty years. Sorry if I’m not getting down on my knees to thank you.’  


Coulson made a show of looking over his notes.  


'I think forty years would be an optimistic view of things, particularly if we were to pass on some of our intelligence to the relevant law enforcement agencies. I think you'd be very lucky to get forty years, even if you are a minor.'  


'Told you I was twenty-two,' was Barton's only response.  


Coulson saw the way his eyes darted around the room, searching out possible weapons, possible routes of escape.  


When Coulson had pulled out his pen, moments after sitting down, he could tell that Barton was already cataloguing all the ways he could kill or disable him if he could just get his hand on that pen.  


Coulson didn't doubt he'd be able to do it. The kid had almost blinded an unwary junior agent with a handful of spare change. The junior agent had had a gun pointed at him at the time.  


'And in the case of your incarceration, I feel that I need to remind you that you have, in your short career, angered a lot of very violent, very powerful individuals who, no doubt, have contacts in a great deal of places - including a number of federal prisons.'  


Barton just looked at him.  


Coulson had already noted down a suspicion of some hearing loss. He'd noticed it first on some of the footage they'd gathered, how 'Hawkeye' would only seem to react to the things which entered his field of vision, excluding louder sounds like gunshots or explosions. His suspicion had been strengthened during their attempts to apprehend him - his preference for high places with limited access points did not seem to be merely the result of his being a sniper, but of him being unable to hear a potential threat sneaking up on him. After they'd brought him in, the final clue was the way he would stare at a person's face, specifically their lips. If Coulson had not noticed the other signs he might have taken it for an attempt at intimidation.  


Barton had been watching his lips, which was how he knew that, despite the lack of reaction, he had been paying attention to what he had said.  


Barton leaned forward. His wrists were not cuffed, which had been Coulson's idea. Cuffing the kid implied they were scared of him. If Barton tried anything, made a grab for the pen and aimed for his eyes, Coulson was confident he could have him subdued and pinned in a few seconds. Barton was a prodigy when it came to ranged weapons, but in hand-to-hand he often resorted to a schoolyard style best summed up as 'aim for the nuts and hope for the best'.  


'But you don't want that to happen. Or your boss doesn't want that to happen,' he said with a smirk. 'I don't know a lot about these sorts of things, but that seemed like a pretty expensive operation you had going there to ambush me. I counted, what, nine of you suits? Not including the team you had watching from the other building, and those SWAT looking guys out on the street. And I assume the tail I shot two weeks ago was you guys as well - how are the holes in his feet healing up by the way? I tried to get a clean shot, not mess up too many bones...So, clearly I'm important to you people. Or I wouldn't be here talking to you.'  


'We are interested in your skills Mr Barton.'  


Any doubt Coulson might have had about Clint Barton's real age were swiftly resolved by the preening, smug look he got whenever Coulson called him 'Mr'. He understood why Fury assigned him to talk to the kid. Another agent might have punched him by now.  


'What's in it for me? And if you just say 'no jail' then we have no deal. I'll take my chances.'  


Coulson thought he was bluffing, but with a teenager it was hard to be sure. The self-destructive capabilities of adolescent stubbornness could not be underestimated.  


'We can offer you security. Employment. Your existing criminal record will be expunged. After a trial period you will receive a salary, that salary will increase based on your performance.'  


'But you'll want me to kill guys? Like before.'  


Barton had folded his arms, and the look he gave Coulson was weary.  


'Yes. But I believe we will be able to find other uses for your talents as well.'  


The thought passed through Coulson's mind that maybe Barton's default expression was just naturally murderous, and that at least some of the animosity was imagined.  


'I have some demands...'  


Coulson dreaded to think what the demands of a teenage assassin with preternatural aim and an attitude could possible be. He readied himself to negotiate Barton down from a luxury penthouse, big-titted call-girls and all the McDonalds he could eat.  


'I want two meals every day. And you don't get to take them away if I mess up...'  


Oh.  


Oh, he might have misjudged…  


'And I'll only fuck superiors.'  


'Excuse me?'  


Coulson could only imagine what things were like on the other side of the glass in the interview room. He was sure Fury was listening in, but he wasn't sure who else was there.  


'I said I'll only fuck superiors.'  


Barton was glaring at him again, as if daring him to say something. Maybe to leer at him, or insult him, call him a slut and then tell him to strip. Again, the look was weary. Like he'd been through this whole routine before. Coulson was holding on to his poker face with every single fibre of his being. They'd missed this in their research. They'd missed a lot, it seemed.  


'Oh, and tell this to my trainer or handler or whatever; when they hit me, try not to get me upside the head. My hearing's kinda fucked, and I'd appreciate it not being anymore fucked.'  


'Is that it?'  


Barton nodded.  


Coulson thought he could see fear for the first time, lurking behind his eyes. As if he thought maybe he'd asked for too much.  


'I can agree to those demands,' Coulson said, holding out a hand for Barton to shake. 'Welcome to SHIELD.'  


\--  


When Coulson stepped into the adjacent room; the room on the other side of the two-way mirror, he was met with a crowd of stony-faced agents.  


Fury was there, his hands steepled in front of his face. Agent May was in the corner, staring into the interview room and looking moderately more dangerous than usual. She hadn’t even been part of the apprehension, so he wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there.  


He saw the junior agent who’d barely avoided being maimed by a well-aimed dime looking pale and sheepish.  


‘Poor little shit,’ he said.  


Coulson wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say it out loud, but he noticed a number of the agents in the room nodded after he spoke.  


‘Director, I would like to put my name forward as Clint Barton’s handler,’ Coulson said.  


Fury nodded.  


‘He’s yours.’  


It would take time. A lot of time to overcome Barton’s past, to build trust and push past that wall, but Coulson was willing.  


He checked his watch.  


The canteen would have finished serving lunch already, but he might be able to convince one of the cooks to make an exception.  


It was time to get to work.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Endurance; or -- the time Clint Barton got hearing aids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413895) by [AlyssaKendall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssaKendall/pseuds/AlyssaKendall)




End file.
